Sweet, In Sanity
by Calamity in Motion
Summary: He was the Master of Fear, magnificent and beautiful, and she his pupil. Sometimes crazy is a good thing. OC villain/Crane/Scarecrow with a bit of the Joker, b/c I can't help myself.
1. Part of the Job

**"When the world is against you, where's the safest place to hide? If I were you-"**

**"You'd know that the safest place to hide is _in _sanity." -Joker(Azarello)-**

* * *

**Chapter 1: Test Subject**

There is a beauty in madness.

A simplicity and comfort in knowing that your actions don't have to be motivated by reason. They don't have to be motivated by anything at all, or even makes _sense_for that matter. It's freeing.

I lost my mind the day I killed my mother and brother, but I think I was crazy long before that. I still don't remember why I did it. My memories of that day have long since twisted and all but disappeared, save the flashes. I remember that I hated her, that the feeling was mutual, and I remember vividly taking the cross off the wall and bashing it against her skull again and again until it was nothing but a sticky mess on our expensive, wooden floor. I remember my brother rushing in to protect her, finding he was too late, and trying to subdue me. I remember the weight of the gun and coldness of the metal against my palm and the sudden pain as it bucked back once I'd fired. I don't know where or why he'd gotten it, only that when I finally managed to get it from his hands he'd gotten one shot in the gut, and I'd been fascinated by the blood the leaked out between his fingers when he held it.

He'd begged me that day, told me I didn't really want to do this. I told him to look at the bitch lying beside him and reevaluate the situation. And then he'd apologized, but no matter how hard I try to remember, I don't know what _for_. Only that it had made me angry, **furious**, and I'd put two more bullets into his head, mingling his blood and brain matter with my mother's.

They'd thrown me in Arkham then. Locked me away with the rest of the madmen and rapists and psychopaths. I hadn't liked it there. Not the terrible, spongy food, or the heartless, insipid doctors they'd given me after. The drugs however, had been a godsend. They floated me away from all the fear and pain and uncertainty. Peeled back the layers of my mind and reached inside with long spindly fingers to strip away the girl that was Elle Gollicand replace her with somethingstronger. Something cold.

After two months in that terrible prison, where the staff was just as twisted as it's patients, I'd started to truly unravel. I'd see things, hear voices and scratching at the walls of my cell in isolation. I watched as one particular beast would drag itself across the floor and pull itself over me. Its breath smelled of decay and sickness, its eyes were black and empty. Soulless. But when I opened my mouth to scream, it had taken my voice. The beast was stronger than me, it always had been.

Soon after that I'd stopped talking, lost in my thoughts, in fears that the beast would return and have me again, pressing me down into the cold floor and holding me there, where no one could help me. And it did, almost every night. They'd panicked when I'd stopped eating, but I didn't care. In my mind the beast couldn't find me, so that's where I stayed. No more panic, no more pain, just silence and beautiful dreams.

I remained catatonic for the better part of two years, until one day, the dream had ended and the monster had forgotten me, though I knew eventually it would return. That however, is when I met Doctor Jonathan Crane. He was cold, hollowed inside by this wretched world, though he'd learned to hide it well. His charm hadn't fooled me though. I was broken. I'd peeled back the skin of this reality and found the true rotting flesh beneath. Without this veil, I had seen him too, and he me.

He was strong, my Jonathan, so much stronger than me. It's why I clingedto him, though he didn't really want me. He'd been my psychiatrist once, before the monster that calls himself Hero had stripped away everything and locked him away in his own institution. But my boy had been far too great to be caged. He'd broken out, many times, and after much pleading and coercion, I'd convinced him to take me with him. Away from the Hell house he'd loved so, and back to the world I'd hated. Though with him, I could stand it.

With the Scarecrow, I could do anything.

**xXx**

The room we entered was obviously designed to impress. Expensive art, collected weapons displayed across the walls, and a huge cherry wooddesk. The man sitting behind it was Edward Warren, crime boss, drug runner, and glorified thug, though not the top dog in Gotham's Narrows. I assumed he wanted to change that.

Otherwise we wouldn't be here.

Crane had chosen to take the seat offered him, placing his briefcase beside the carved wood chair, and folding his hands in his lap. I remained by the door, eyeing the pictures Edwad had displayed and running my fingers across the glass. From the corner of my eyes, I caught Edward watching me, I think I might have made him nervous, but that was my job.

The silent little henchmen in her ragged, loosely stitched costume. Crane cleared his throat and Edward turned back to him, with a wide forced smile.

"It's good that you could take time out of your busy schedule to talk with me." I rolled my eyes and continued to walk the line of the wall, absorbed in the task of being generally creepy. Crane adjusted his glasses, not returning the smile. He never really smiled, not _him_ anyway. The other did, and it always seemed to mean he was planning to do something terrible.

"Yes, well, I do have plans of my own, Mr. Warren, so why don't we skip this and cut strait to what you want from me."

The thug chuckled, straitening the lapels of his suit. "On to business then." he replied, "There is a man, one of the many politics in this town that respects a good side-profit. Lately he's seemed a bit...twitchy. I don't think he wants to work with me anymore, and of course that could cause _problems_ for me."

"What are you asking?" Crane sat strait in his chair, always with the good posture, like he'd been raised by a socialite. Like me.

"I want him gone, Crane." Edward said slowly.

"You can hire men for that, Mr. Warren. I am not a hitman."

Edward laughed, "No, but you have an interesting way of taking care of people, Crane. A way that gets noticed. I want this man to be made an _example_ of. I want his friends to realize just how serious I am when it comes to my business."

"Yes." I murmured, "All thugs must keep their image."

Both men glanced my way and Crane's eyes narrowed in warning. I wasn't allowed to insult the clients, no matter how easy it was to do. To cover my slip, Crane pushed on.

"What would you like me to do?"

Edward watched me a moment more, then smiled at Crane. "That isn't my concern. It's your gift I'm buying, your mind. I want the Scarecrow to do what he does _best_." With that, he slid a thick envelope across the desk to Crane. "Everything you'll need is there, along with a price I'm sure you'll be interested in."

"You assume I can be bought like your muscle?"

Edward held up his hands in a placating manor. "No. But money does makes things convenient, doesn't it?"

Crane stood then, taking the envelope and handing it to me without looking inside. He grabbed his briefcase and nodded to the crime boss with a tight almost-smile. The best one could expect from him.

"Yes." he agreed, "Yes it does."

**xXx**

Max could hear things in the walls, see the floor movingbeneath him as he ran. The world was made of bugs, he realized. God, he hated bugs! He didn't know what had happened, sitting in his study, pouring over building propositions and the expected earnings of next quarter. Somethinghad come in through the vents below him. A cloud of white that had burned down his throat and made his eyes water. When he'd opened them again, everything had changed.

The staff was gone for the night, his wife and daughter staying with his bitch of an inlaw, but purhaps it was a blessing. Now the insects couldn't get to them.

He tripped as he was dashing down the hall, trying to escape the swamp of skittering, twitchy little demons. He could hear them scrapeing across the floor, the tick of pinchers and soft squelching of their thousand tiny legs as they followed him. They would eat him if he didn't move. Climb down his throat and eat through his eyes. Would he be able to scream once they were inside, tearing at his organs? Feasting on his carcass?

"_No_!" he cried and scrambled back up, grabbing blindly at a door and rushing inside. It slammed behind him and he turned to watch the creatures gather around the door, blotting out the light that seeped in beneath. This wouldn't keep them out long. Oh, god, they would get in eventually. He backed away, trembling, and blinking back tears, utterly terrified.

And then there was a giggle.

He spun around, peering into the darkness. His daughter's room, he realized. Between the toys and clothing scattered across the floor, he could see the insects moving. How had they gotten inside? But they seemed to be waiting, _watching_ him.

"Who's there?" he asked, his voice no more than a hoarse whisper. The giggle came again, too low to be his little girl, but still soft and tinkling, like a child's. But there was no one in the room. There couldn't be. All he saw were toys. Dolls. He stepped forward, eyeing one in particular. He couldn't recall having ever seen it before.

And the thing was large, easily the size of a person. Its tattered dress had been stitched with scraps of dark material. Burlap and linen and other things he couldn't identify. It was slumped against the wall, head hanging forward, but then he heard the giggle again, and knew it had come from the doll.

Max stumbled and fell backwards when it moved. Raising its head and opening its eyes with a smile made of razor blades. He watched, too frightened to scream, as it slowly rose to its feet, the threads that held its arms together hung loose, the material frayed. Its hair tumbled down around its face and from it he saw tiny spiders weaving in and out of the dirty redish mane, slowly twisting down on thin lines of web to land on its shoulders and scurry out of sight.

"No." he shook his head as the doll approached him. "_Get away_."

The insects had gotten beneath the door. They were swarming him now, crawling into his clothes and when he tried to scream they caught in his throat, choking him. He gagged, spitting on the floor and finding blood on the carpet. They were eating him! Sweet god they would tear him apart!

The soft, tinkling voice of the doll swelled across the room as it crouched onto the floor, crawling ever closer, its eyes burning red, black oozing from between the blades in its mouth.

"_A tis-ket a tas-ket."_it sang, and he tried to crawl away, but the doll's hand shot out and grabbed his ankle, dragging itself across the floor toward him. "_The Scarecrow's out his cas-ket_."

His heart was thundering in his ears, and he could feel the insects inside him eating at his stomach, burrowing up beneath his skin. Again he tried to scream, but the sound was strangled. The doll giggled, finally above him and holding him down.

"_Turn out the lights, and lock the door."_

"NO!"

"_Pray-ing that he pass-es_."

"**GET AWAY FROM ME**!!!" He bellowed, shoving back at the doll, though it only giggled more. He clawed at his skin, trying to rip out the bugs that had settled there. The room was twisting in on itself, the carpet had been filled with ants. Thousands of them, and roaches. They covered his pants, moving ever closer to his face and he scrambled to bat them away, but more came. They were everywhere.

"Oh, come now, Max." a dark, distorted voice drifted down from above him as the doll pushed itself back up, grinning madly. The figure was tall, so big and dark. His eyes widened as he gazed up at it. It's face, oh god its face! Ragged and stitched like the doll. It's eyes were black and when it opened its mouth maggots squirmed and tumbled down across its lips. A _scarecrow_. It was a living_ scarecrow_!

"She only wants to _play_ with you."

Max watched, frozen in horror as the demon raised its arm and white flames shot out from its palm, burning his throat. Burning him alive. The bugs went into a frenzy, they swelled within his stomach, trying to burst out through the skin. He screamed, tearing at his shirt to watch his belly distort as they pushed at it.

"No!" He grabbed a handful of his flesh and tried to pull. Out, he had to get them out! Before they ate him alive! He clawed at the shifting flesh, bashing it when the roaches tried to stop him.

"No." he sobbed, "_no no no no no_..."

**xx**

I ran a hand through my tangled hair with a heavy sigh. I was feeling a bit sick right now. Crane had been right though, the man had _hated_ bugs, and though there had been none present, we'd watched him tear out his own stomach to get at them. Crane might be able to handle such things, but I was still relatively new to this sort of thing.

"Did you leave anything in the room?" Crane asked, pulled his burlap mask from his head. His hair fell in damp tendrils around his clear blue eyes, distracting me for a moment. Seeing this, he stood strait, "_Elle_."

"N..no." I shook my head, "I didn't. We can leave."

He nodded.

**Author's Note:**

**It took me too long to finally type this up. I've been playing with a Crane fic for a couple months now, but never liked the opening chapters I'd had writen. (There were MANY variations of this scene)**

**It wasn't until I got my hands on a copy of Scarecrow: Year One, and Arkham Asylum: A Serious House On Serious Earth(which I SERIOUSLY recommend you read. The artwork is beautiful and twisted, as is the storyline) that it all clicked together.**

**This story might be a bit disjointed at times, switching from past to present as Elle (or Ragdoll, as she will come to be called) sees it. I wanted to tell a Crane story with a version of Scarecrow I could really have fun with. I want it dark, and hopefull as I get farther into the story that will come across.**

**For those of you that have read my Joker fic, you know I fancy violence, and I'm going to keep to that here as much as Crane will allow. There will also be a Cameo from my favorite clown and my Harley (perhaps even Alec, his character is just fun to write) in later chapters.**

**Anyway, send me a bit of feedback. I'm still trying to get used to writing Crane, and it would help to know what works and what doesn't from all of you.**

**Until next time, Love and Entrails,**

**Calamity**


	2. Test Subject

**And now we hear from Jonny. -bright smile-**

* * *

"Is he gone now?"

Crane turned a narrowed gaze on the thin girl pressed against the wall. Her big bright green eyes were wide and frightened, her dark red-brown hair nearly shielding the rest of her pale face. A whimper reminded him that there was business to be done, and he turned back to the sniveling creature at his feet.

"Doctor?" The girl asked softly and he sighed irritably, cutting her a look that made her finally quiet.

"For now." he replied, still a bit breathless. He'd lost his temper, it seemed, in front of the girl and his patient. It had forced out his other side, the one that didn't mind violence, or harsh language. The one that terrified the girl more than she would ever admit. The burlap mask that hung from his hand seemed to upset the pathetic man below him, so he shook it a bit, enjoying the way it made the man crawl backwards, trying to escape him.

But there was nowhere to go in this small cell-like room. The warehouse had many of them, easy to secure, and perfect for his experiments. Dr. Crane needed them after he'd been banished from Arkham, after that costumed megalomaniac had stolen _everything_ away and forced him into the streets of this horrible, rotting city.

The place disgusted him, it always had. With its dirty people, and filthy streets. The Narrows in particular held a smell that seemed to creep into every fiber of Crane's suits now adays. So no matter where he went, the stench of this cesspool followed him. So now, it was moments like _these_, deep in his rat-infested hideaway, that he found his pleasures. Those short moments when he gazed down into the eyes of his victims and watched the terror twist them into worthless lumps of flesh, and finally he could breathe deeply again.

Not that he was doing this for no reason, mind you. Crane was experimenting with the express purpose of bettering his toxin. And the sobbing creature currently curling himself into the fetal position was the test that would help him do that.

His toxin was a piece of art. It increased the heart rate, released adrenaline and induced vivid hallucinations that sometimes left his victims so completely petrified that there minds simply snapped. (These were his favorites, and the most interesting to watch) Left to their own devices, one exposed to the toxin would go into a state of hyper-awareness that amplified every sound and smell around them, edging all of which in a chemical-induced panic. Their subconscious then twisted these things into images directly from their worst nightmares.

His quandary was simple. If he could somehow get his victims focused enough to pay him attention, could he _guide_their hallucinations? Would visual or auditory stimuli create images of _his_choosing during their state of panic? If so, it would open a whole new door in his research. The very thought made Crane anxious. He'd been attempting to test this theory for the last half hour, but after several doses of his toxin, even diluted as it was, Mr. Dougary Renalds was barely capable of complete sentences and had begun to drool on himself.

Crane's jaw clenched and he turned toward the door, with a sharp whistle. Two hired thugs lumbered in and grabbed the sobbing Mr. Renalds, dragging him from the room. Crane watched their progress a moment, before leaning back against the wall and closing his eyes. He was alarmed to find that his hair was tangled and sticking out at odd angles when he ran fingers through it, and quickly moved to fix this. Appearance was something he prided himself on.

"Jonathan?" The soft female voice brought his attention back on the girl. She was still against the wall, though she'd lost the glassy sheen over her eyes. Narrowing his eye, he growled.

"Do not call me Jonathan, Elle."

She only frowned, arms crossing like a defiant teenager, "Don't call me Elle, _Jonathan_."

_**Smack her.**_ The dark voice of the Scarecrow drifted up from deep in his thoughts, _**Show the little bitch that we won't stand for back-talk.**_

_I don't have time to deal with her. _he replied wearily. Now was not the time to argue over names. And especially not when she was insisting he address her by that_ idiotic _sobriquet she'd dreamed up. It had so obviously been an attempt to please him, and now had become a challenge. She refused to answer to her appointed name, Elle Gollic, daughter of the socialite Madaline Gollic, and _he_ refused to address her by anything but.

_**Until she **_**killed **_**her. Now she's got no mommy, no big brother. Just **_**you**_**, Jonny-boy. Doctor to daddy, how does it feel?**_

Like he wanted to force-feed her razors and set her on fire. But that was neither here nor there.

He had more important things to worry about then a bratty henchgirl going through her terrible-20's. He needed a new test subject for his toxin. The last few had given him no results at all, but screaming and tears.(Which, admittedly was _entertaining_, but not what he was looking for) If he wanted to know what they saw, they would have to at least be lucid enough to _respond_ to his questions, but that was beginning to seem impossible. Then his gaze fell back to the girl, pouting in her corner.

_**Clever thing, aren't you Jonny?**_ Scarecrow laughed in his distorted way and Crane tilted his head.

Despite her irritable qualities, Elle was a strong-willed girl. And what's more she had, on many occasions, been subject to the effects of his fear toxin. While such a thing did not build any sort of immunity, it did mean she could take the effects in stride. If anyone could respond to him, it would be the girl.

Noticing his attention, she looked up, flushing slightly under his scrutiny. They had a little game, where she tried to hold his eyes, but never could. Even now, she was glancing away as he continued to stare. Crane let the ghost of a smile cross his lips then whistled, long and loud for the thugs. They came quickly.

"Hold her." he said simply and turned to the small metal table that neatly displayed his toxin in various forms, and strengths. He'd begin with something light, and work his way from there.

"Wait!" she cried as the thugs grabbed her arms and held her in place. "What are you doing?"

"I should think that was obvious." he replied, filling the chamber in his vaporizer with one of the toxins. They'd played this game many times in the past. She would complain and sometimes scream or fight, and he would subdue her (not difficult for even a man of his size. Though he was tall, Crane was not swathed in muscle) then drug her. She was a convenient test subject when he had no one else.

Finishing with the vaporizer, he glanced up at the thugs and motioned with a nod to bring her closer. She was shaking, the silly thing, pleading with her big doe eyes as if it would dissuade him at all. As if it ever had before. When they'd dragged her across the room, she turned her head away from him and clamped her mouth shut. She was probably even holding her breath. But he was in no mood to play this game tonight.

"Look at me," he said firmly, and she did. Almost as if she were programed to, and did so on impulse. Such a good dog she'd turned out to be, so loyal. "Do you like snakes?"

She seemed confused, though it wasn't surprising. She didn't know exactly what he was doing. Only that he'd been playing with his chemicals again. (As she often put it)

"Snakes?" she asked, her voice shaking.

Crane smiled then, slow and malicious and released a generous dose of his toxin directly into her face. "Because they're all around you."

For a moment, she was very quiet, blinking and coughing, and then she looked up at him and screamed, jerking back away from the thugs. Then she turned her attention to the floor. Again she was screaming, fighting the thugs and thrashing her feet, kicking at things that weren't there. He felt a flare of excitement.

"What do you see?"

She only shrieked, sobbing and slumped in her captor's arms. Anger sliced through him and he grabbed her jaw, forcing her to look up at him. This sent her into a new wave of sobbing. He pulled on his mask.

"Tell me what you see." he demanded, his voice low and distorted thanks to the machine in the lining of his mask. To her, it was the most horrible voice she would ever hear. It would haunt her, follow her to her nightmares. It was also very commanding.

"They're everywhere." she sobbed.

"_What _are?" he pressed. She was trying not to look at him, at his mask. At times he wondered what it looked like to them, that they shrieked and sobbed like children. Could it be that terrible? It must be, sweet little Elle with her big bright eyes was sagging, _moaning_ in fear that had no energy left for screams.

"The things." she whispered, eyes rolling closed. "_The monsters_."

He released her with a soft curse, uncommon for him. Crane preferred not to curse, be it his own strict code or residual educate left over from the days of living with his overtly religious Grandmother. He himself had never believed in God, and if he did, he certainly wouldn't like the man.

Crane waved distractedly at the thugs and turned back to his table. He heard them drop Elle to the floor and moved to shadow the doorway in case they were needed again. Oh, the loyalty money could buy now adays. The girl would be fine, of course, she was no use to him as the carcass she was imitating now. The effects of the diluted toxin would wear off in a short time, but until then she was little more than a frightened animal.

He pulled off his mask, tossing it to the table and unstrapped the vaporizer from his wrist. One hand went roughly through his hair, smoothing back the chaotic, damp tentrils and he sighed. He was far too aggitated to continue testing tonight. He'd had little sleep as it was and no doubt would have to deal with Elle whining once she rejoined the world again.

**xXx**

"_Damnit_!"

The curse came from Crane's office, which was the only reason I paused. The thugs were known for their mouths, but Crane had such an eloquence when speaking. Hearing him curse was like witnessing Hailey's Comet. Very rare.

Which, by extension, meant something was _very_ wrong.

I jumped, stumbling back into the wall when he came storming out of his study, raking a hand through his hair. Before the door swung shut behind him, I caught a glimpse of chemicals. Most likely he was working on his toxin. I was just opening my mouth to ask him what had happened when he grabbed my upper arm and began hauling me down the hall.

"Crane?" I squeaked, but he had paused at the door of our make-shift kitchen to lean in and bark something at our boys. There was a chorus of scraping chairs and curses and then everyone was pouring from the room behind us. Glancing back down the hall, I tried to figure out what the hell was going on, stumbling behind Crane.

From beneath the door of Crane's study was the beginning of a thick white cloud. My free hand went instinctively to his sleeve, gripping it tightly as our group hot-footed it to the exit of the small compound. (Our current hideaway) This wasn't the first time we'd been forced out because of a chemical mishap. The compound was nothing but steel walls, air tight in the newer sections. Which meant it was very poorly ventilated. When something happened with the toxin that got it into the air, it meant we all had to get the hell out for at least a few hours.

It was chilly tonight and I stepped closer to Crane while he was distracted. Hiding my smile when he cursed again under his breath. His fingers went back through his hair (a habit he had when irritated) as we all came to a stop outside the compound. For a moment, I was leaning against him, listening to the grumblings of our boys, until he glanced down and noticed me. Sighing, he gently extracted himself from my grip and stepped away, drawing the line between us, then his attention went back to the building. I could tell he was angry; the lines of his forehead were ever-so-slightly furrowed, his posture stiff, and the line of his mouth had thinned. I wished, not for the first time, that I could hear his thoughts. Glimpse, just for a moment, the things within that brilliant, beautiful head of his.

A long while passed as he thought to himself, and then he was turning, walking over to one of the thugs and speaking to him in hushed tones I couldn't catch. The thug nodded and moved quickly to a group of the other boys, spreading the message. I fidgeted with my hands a long while, waiting for him to get back to me and again he was grabbing my arm, dragging me off without explanation. Not that I wasn't _used _to being out of the loop, it just bugged me.

"Crane?" I asked tentatively as we got to the black vans. One of the boys opened the doors at the back for Crane and he climbed in. I followed and after me a second thug, then the door slammed and the van was starting. The guy in the passenger seat was talking to someone on his cellphone, but I wasn't interested enough to pay attention. Instead I watched Crane, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the side of the van. I wanted to ask where we were going, but figured I wouldn't get an answer anyway.

As usual, I was just along for the ride.

**xx**

_This is getting ridicules. _Crane thought, eyes closed and hands folded in his lap. The van jumped, but he was doing a good job of ignoring his surroundings. That way he wouldn't have to think about how badly he needed new equipment. Or how the process of converting the toxin from powder to aerosol had backfired, _again_, and how they were being forced from the compound, _again_.

_**We need cash. **_Scarecrow grumbled, just as put out as Crane himself. _**At this rate, nothing will be finished.**_

_Yes, _Crane thought back, snidely, _I'm aware. But this life isn't exactly conducive to earning a paycheck. And before you even _mention_ a bank job, stop yourself. It won't happen._

_**Just puttin' out ideas, Jonny. Can't hurt to try. I hear it works real well for the clown.**_

Crane's jaw clentched at the thought of the Joker. His days were better off when that illogical sociopath went unmentioned.

_**So? **_Scarecrow pushed, _**How do we fix this? We need a new residence, Jonny-boy, and that's just for starters.**_

Crane sighed, sure they could return to the compound eventually, once the toxin had time to settle, but it was still there, ready to be stirred up and make a nuisance of itself. While he loved his toxin, sometimes working with it could be infuriating.

"We've got a buy." one of his men said and he opened his eyes, coming back to the world. "Guy says he'll meet us in the usual place downtown. Long as the shipment's there by midnight."

He didn't answer, simply nodded, and closed his eyes again.

This wasn't the first time he'd sold his compound to regular thugs for profit. In fact, only months before there had been a huge Ecstasy scare amongst the Gotham U students, after GCN had released it's special segment. _Swallowed into Hell: The Tim Otis story_had documented the unfortunate experience of one boy. When interviewed, the mother had told GCN that he'd been strapped to a table at the hospital for trying to tear out his own eyes after ingesting party-poppers laced with his toxin.

Crane wouldn't pretend that it hadn't gotten a chuckle from him and his dark passenger. He wasn't concerned with the buyer's intentions for his toxin, only the profit. If they tried to sell it recreational, that was their problem. Not that many would buy it once they saw its effects.

_"I told you my drugs would take you places. I never said they'd be places you wanted to go."_

Sometimes, however, such things were worth it.

Crane paused a moment in his reverie, feeling eyes on him. He opened his eyes to glance down at the silent Elle. Her big green eyes were wide and questioning, though she knew not to voice these things. Instead, she simply stared at him, probably wondering what he was thinking. She was always so concerned with he opinions. Clinging to his every word. At times, it could be irritating.

"Your little _costume_ is under the seat." he said finally, making sure to stress that he thought it foolish. "Get ready."

His own hand slipped into the inside pocket of his suit jacket to stroke the burlap hidden within. Elle opened her mouth, glancing around at the other thugs. she didn't want to change in front of them, but he really didn't care. Adjusting the small pressurized canister in his sleeve, Crane motioned to the seat in question.

"_Now_, Elle."

As she rushed to comply, he noticed the flame of red that overtook her cheeks while she ducked her head and tried hiding behind her hair. She did however, do as she was told, and that was all that mattered.

* * *

**I wanted to thank Boondox for their song Seven since I didn't before. It's were I got the lullaby Elle sang in the first chapter to Max. I heard the song and couldn't believe how perfect it was.**

**I'm struggling to get these posted as fast as I can, but I'm not sure how it's going to work out. So far I've got 6 versions of this chapter alone. Every time I wrote one and sat back to say yeah, that works I'd start rereading and immediately find that I hated _everything _about it.**

**However, I've been able to write out several later chapters just fine, it seems I'm only having trouble with the one leading up to them. The Joker cameo, for instance, has been written in full (I'm beginning to think there will be more Joker in here than I'd originally intended) as well as several of the sessions between Elle and Crane back when both were still in Arkham (Crane as as doc, not strapped to his crazy chair, muttering about his alter-ego)**

**Alot of Elle's back story is already on the table between the characters, but won't be show in the story until we get to the...well I don't know if I want to call them flashbacks. I'd just like to take the time to say that parts of her past are a bit..disturbing, for lack of a better term. Her family was not completely functional, but we'll get to that later.**

**Anyway, ow that I've ranted, I hope you will review, and let me know what you think so far.**


	3. Making Friends

**I'm on a roll tonight I guess. Couldn't help but post the next chapter now that things are flowing easier.**

**Anyway, just wanted to point out that all sections tagged Arkham at the beginning with be 'flashbacks'(I hate that word) to Elle and Crane back in the Asylum. In this case it is one of their first sessions together.**

**Tell me what you think. Plz. I crave your opinions.**

* * *

**Arkham **

"You think I'm stupid." I mumbled, pulling at a loose string on my sweater.

Crane glanced up at me over his glasses then went back to his notes, careful to keep any emotion from his tone or expression. Idly, I wondered why.

"Not stupid, Ms. Gollic . Naive perhaps. A bit lacking in emotional maturity."

"Can you _say_ things like that?" I asked, tilting my head at him, "I could complain and ask for another doctor."

He gave a feint smile. "Seeing as I am the only doctor who is willing to bother with your case, I don't imagine the director would agree if you did."

"My case?" I asked, irritated and not quite understanding why. "There's nothing **wrong** with me compared to the _other_ people in this place."

"I wouldn't go that far, but to be quite frank, you have been in a complete state of catatonia for the majority of the last 2 years. Then, with seemingly no reason at_ all_, you became completely lucid. In fact, you don't seem to have any signs that you _were,_ at one time, completely unresponsive. My question, is _why_."

"Why I was catatonic?"

"Why you _aren't_."

I shrugged. "I don't know, maybe I got tired of being a vegetable. Maybe I just decided to wake up."

"It has been my experience that patients who spend nearly 24 solid months so deep in their minds that they are completely unresponsive to even the most basic auditory or visual stimuli, do not simply _wake up_. And very rarely do they exhibit signs of complete recovery as you have." He chuckled softly, "Well, not _complete _recorvery."

"I don't know." I grumbled. And truthfully, I didn't. I had been lost in my mind so long. Living a life I had fabricated for comfort, until one day, I had opened my eyes and seen my _cell_ around me, not the fantasy.

"There has to be some explanation. Perhaps something you remember just before you-"

"Well there isn't!" I snapped. "The point is, I'm awake now. Isn't that enough?"

"It **is **generally viewed as a _good_ thing." he replied slowly. Though my irritation stopped me from appreciating his uncommon use of humor.

"Then what does it matter? I'm awake now, so why can't we leave it at that? I'm sure you have a thousand things you'd rather be doing."

"Be that as it may, I am not in the habit of wasting time, Ms. Gollic. You are my patient, and as much as it might exasperate us both to spend this hour every week together, I am completely dedicated to doing my job. So, if you wouldn't mind giving me an answer that isn't a _complete_ lie, I'll ask again. Is there anything you remember from the first night you were lucid?"

"No, damnit! There's nothing."

**xx**

This bothered her severely. Not that he minded. Crane had no interest in her comfort. The reaction, however, was intriguing. Adjusting his glasses, he gave a soft sigh.

"If you wouldn't mind, Ms. Gollic, there is no need to use profanities. There are a wide variety of other words that _will_ get your point across."

"Bite me." she snapped, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. It was an obviously defensive maneuver for someone who seemed so determined to prove to him that she was strong. So, as he fought back the urge to strike or throttle her, he removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Charming." he sighed and sat back in his uncomfortable metal chair, folding his hands on the table between them. "I take it this means you are finished with this line of questioning?"

"You're a quick one."

_**And you're a snarky little bitch who thinks that defensive sarcasm will in any way hinder our ability to diagnose you.**_

Crane arched a brow, but did not react further. _She_ believed that goading him would either irritate him enough to refuse her treatment, or distract him to the same end. This, of course, was a mistake of her part, as he had absolutely no intention of giving up this case. Not when every other doctor in this institution had already thrown in the towel. (and most without having ever actually _spoken_ with her)

After all, what would that say about him? He, who prided himself for actually possessing the ability to _use_his psychiatric knowledge for the treatment of patients. There were times that he wondered how it was his collegues had ever gotten their positions. A few had proclaimed sparkling records, but then perhaps Arkham was just the place good doctors went to die. Once their minds had dulled and their perceptive abilities seemingly vanished. This however, was not the case for him. Crane was brilliant, he knew this, had proven it on many occasions. He had _requested _Arkham, for its extreme personalities. (as well as low security claims)

The point was, he had no intention of giving up, no matter how _cranky_she got. Besides, on a purely professional level, her case has mildly intriguing.

"Let's move on." he said finally, watching her shrug grudgingly and turn her eyes on the table. Or, more accuratly, his hands. Clearing his throat, Crane moved them out of sight. "Tell me about your mother."

If he'd been hoping for a reaction, he got one. Almost imediatly, her posture became tense and closed, the line of her mouth thinning.

"What is there to tell? The lady named me _girl_."

"So your relationship was somewhat strained?"

"What?" she frowned, finally looking up at him. There was an almost nervous light to her eyes, as if she feared what he said next. Naturally, he pushed on.

"I mentioned your mother and your first response was a snipe about her choice of name. I assume this is a sore subject for you. Perhaps you feel it was somehow insensitive. That she did so _intentionally_ to hurt you." he shrugged, "It is, however, entirely possible that she chose that particular name for its sonorous quality, rather than _meaning_." He could almost see the giant 'Huh?' written across her forehead, but did not explain because she was not going to ask.

_**It means she thought it sounded **_**pretty**_**.**_

"_Gift of God_," she smiled tightly, "Did your mother consider **that** when she named you Jonathan?"

_My grandmother, actually. It was her private joke, _he thought with a wave of bitter anger. "Please just answer the question."

"That was a _question_?" she arched her brows.

"Now you're _avoiding_ the question." he pointed out.

"You avoided mine."

_**Gottcha there, Jonny-boy.**_

Crane's jaw clenched a short moment in irritation before he replied. "If you are quite finished with the schoolyard semantics, Ms. Gollic, may we please get back to our session?"

The courner of her mouth lifted into a smirk and she leaned forward a bit in her chair, watching him closely.

"You _really_ don't like that I brought up your mother."

Crane kept his expression neutral, though the urge to hurt her was steadily growing stronger. The girl was moderately perceptive, and he was not pleased about it. In fact, he was fairly certain that should she continue pushing him, he would not be able to stop himself from attacking her.

And wouldn't_ that _be a hastle to explain to the director.

**xXx**

Crane never let anyone go with him into the warehouse he stored his toxin in, which was why I was so surprised when he told me to follow. The place was a maze of hallways and unfinished rooms hung with sheets of plastic. I followed his progress, trying to remember the way for future reference, but had more trouble keeping up with the doctor and his long-legged stride.

Briefly, I wondered why I hadn't been allowed to change here instead of the van, but decided there was no use complaining. It was already done, and I had suffered the lecherous looks and whistles from all the boys with us, until Crane had cut in with a distracted "Enough.' and all went quiet.

Once we were in a darker section of the warehouse, he came to a stop, clicking on a flashlight and running the beam of illumination across the room as if to check for intruders. There were none, and he eventually handed the torch over to me, nodding to follow him and keep the light up.

"Where do you get it all?" I asked as he stepped behind me to root through the backpack he'd told me to wear. Sliding out a crowbar, he approached one of the many crates and popped it between the lid and wooden frame.

"The powder, or the toxin?" he asked, distracted as he pried off the crate's top and handed back the crowbar.

"There's powder too?" I asked, leaning toward the crate to peek inside. Crane turned then, giving me an arched look and grabbed my wrist, positioning it back to illuminate the crate again, then turned back to reach inside. After he didn't answer, I sighed. "I mean that guy you worked for in the beginning, the one that covered the Narrows in your poison, he's dead right? Batman killed him."

A tiny smile touched the corner of Crane's mouth, but he still didn't answer.

"How can you be getting this stuff if your supplier's dead?"

"You're oftly chatty." he commented, making me flush slightly. "But if you must know, Ra's was not the only person supplying me with the flower I derived my toxin from."

"Is it a pretty flower?" I asked, eyes blurring slightly before I looked up to see he was starring at me. In his arms were a number of sealed plastic bags of what, to any outsider, would look like cocaine. I knew batter than to draw a line and snort it. Even the thought of doing so gave me chills. How terrible would the effects be in such a concentrated form? Could anyone recover from such a thing?

"We don't have much time." Crane sighed, pulling me closer to fill the backpack. "No more questions."

And that was the end of all conversation.

**xx**

We met this old buyer at the docks, and I was mildly irritated to find it was Edward Warren. As our boys fanned out holding semi-automatics and other fun weapons, his did the same. Crane grabbed the top of the van before stepping out onto the damp ground, mask on. now he wasn't the doctor, he was Scarecrow, and this small change made even the thug boss seem nervous.

"Mr. Warren," Scarecrow titled his head, and from his tone, I could tell he was smiling. "Will we be doing business regularly now?"

The thug grinned, hands in his pockets to seem casual, though his posture was tense. "Only when I need you, Crane."

I arched a brow from my place by the van, crossing my arms. Was that his attempt to seem strong? Perhaps he just wanted to piss Crane off. No, not Crane, Scarecrow, who was even easier to irritate. What was this idiot thinking?

Scarecrow let his head fall forward a moment before he lifted it and stepped toward Warren. "I take it you got the news of poor Max. I hear the coroners had quite the day cleaning him from the carpets. Is it true his daughter found him first?"

Warren had lost his smile, and was clenching his jaw, but gave a sharp nod. "You herded him into her room, after all."

"Did I?" Scarecrow turned, chuckling and looking back at me. "Oops."

At this I fought a smile, knowing he'd fully intended this. It's why I'd been waiting in the playroom. From behind his mask, Scarecrow winked, sending a chill down my spine. Sometimes I liked it went he was dominant.

Sometimes he scared the hell out of me.

"Enough about Max." he said, clapping once and turning back to face the thug, "We have business, you and I. So tell me, Edward. What exactly is it you want?"

The thug didn't like that he was using his first name in front of everyone. Admittedly, it was a sign of disrespect, but Crane had called him Edward back in his office as well. I'm not sure why he expected any differnt from his counterpart.

"Your drug." he answered finally, forcing back his smile. "I could use a little motivator like that in my work." Then his grin became malicious, "I've never seen its effects firsthand, though. Is there any chance we could have a small demonstration?"

Scarecrow's eyes narrowed, ever so slightly within the burlap, the effect was rather chilling, and Warren seemed to share me opinion. "So that's why you decided to grace us with your presence this time?" He seemed to be in a rather nasty mood this evening.

To his credit, Warren didn't look offended. "I never bother with such things now adays. Too many, more important, issues to settle. After Max, however, you caught my interest."

Scarecrow nodded toward Warren's men, tilting his head to the side again. "And who would be the unlucky lab rat?"

Warren snapped, glancing over his shoulder as his men opened the dark van doors to drag a thrashing form from within. The person had been secured with zip-ties, his head covered by a black bag. As he was hauled out to the center of our groups, he yelled muffled curses, which I assumed meant he was also gagged.

"And who is this?" Scarecrow asked, his fingers gliding along the hem of his suit sleeve, where the small vaporizer was hidden. Warren waved his hand carelessly and shrugged.

"A fool. He thought he could steal from me, but I'm sure he'll be set strait soon enough. That is if you wouldn't mind?"

I watched as Scarecrow approached the man, circling him slowly, and delighting in the way Warren's thug leaned away from him as he did. "Will I be doing _all_ your work for you, Edward?"

Warren lost his smile again, eyes narrowing. "If you'd prefer I'll simply take my shipment and experiment myself. "

In answer, Scarecrow reached out and jerked the bag from the man's head, dropping it to the ground. He took a minute to let him orient himself. Seeing who it was that stood before him, he struggles stopped, and his mouth fell open around his gag, eyes flashing wide and frightened. I held my breath a moment as Scarecrow lifted his hand again to tug off the gag, letting it hiss from between my lips as a cloud of white exploded from the end of his sleeve and into the man's face.

for a moment, there was only coughing and the man sagged forward a bit with a cry of panic. When he lifted his eyes again, he let out a scream, and tried to shove back against his captors to escape Scarecrow.

"_Holy shit_!" he cried, shaking his head, and then he couldn't form words. Leaning toward him, I knew Scarecrow was smiling again.

"Boo." he said, laughter in his voice, and the man began screaming again. Eventually, his struggling became too much and the thugs holding him were forced to let go. We all watched as he hit the ground hard, head bouncing off the concrete with a wet thud and then he wasn't moving very much at all.

Warren pursed his lips, nodding. "And these effects are only with your little spray there?"

"Not at all!" Scarecrow laughed, ignoring the protective teams to sling his arm around Warren's shoulders. The thug was very aware of the sleeve that had housed the toxin, as it rested beside his head. "It's just more conveniat, I think. No, the powder does just fine, and it can be laced with any number of drugs. But you know that already, don't you Edward? I mean, you wouldn't be doing business with a guy without knowing _everything_ about his product. That was be foolish." Scarecrow clapped him on the shoulder, "and seeing as you've already bought from me before, it might look like you were a bit of an idiot to an outside observer."

"Whoa." the thug next to me breathed my thoughts with a wide-eyed stare. There was a line, and Scarecrow was crossing it. Though I can't image him doing so for no reason. Was he trying to goad something out of Warren, perhaps? Even if the creature was a bit off, I had never known him to be anything but methodical. What was he playing at?

Warren was flushed in rage, though he didn't move away from Scarecrow. His eyes though found me as they passed over our men, and narrowed. I lifted my gun (an unloaded prop, since Crane didn't trust me with such things) and rested the barrel against my shoulder, arching a brow.

When he spoke finally, it was too soft to make out, but Made Scarecrow shake his head and lean toward the thug to reply just as quiet. Whatever he said, Warren didn't like and he stepped away from him with a deft jerk to straiten his suit jacket.

"I don't think I'll be needing your services after all, Crane." his voice was edged in fury, his cheeks mottled and red.

"That's probably for the best." this time there was no humor in his voice when the Scarecrow spoke, and his fingers had closed into tight fists at his sides. Warren stepped toward him, holding up a finger.

"_Watch_yourself, Crane. Not everyone in this city fears you."

"No," he agreed, "but they should."

With that, the thug let his mouth bob a few times, lost in his attempt to respond, and eventually he gave up. After a long moment he finally spun on his heel a barked a few orders to his men. One rushed forward to put a bullet to the groaning man on the ground a more rushed forward to clean the mess and stuff him into a bady bag for later disposal. Scarecrow turned to us and nodded to the thug at my right who instantly began to pack up, the rest of the guys held their weapons at the ready, just in case.

I was struck with a smug superiority at the efficiency of our system. The way our boys didn't need to be _told_what to do, as Warren's had. They knew their jobs, and the consequences of failing them. As Warren got into his van, slamming the door like a child, Scarecrow waved me back into the van and I smiled hurrying to comply.

As the door closed behind us, though I felt that tiny was of nervousness that came whenever I was alone with Scarecrow.

"If you don't mind, sir," I cleared my throat, "Why exactly did you just stomp this deal?"

When he raised his hand, I flinched, but it was only to remove his mask and shake out his hair. He noticed, of course, cutting me a look and sighing.

"Because, for some reason I have yet to fathom, Edward Warren has managed to get himself a position of power and the funds to abuse it."

I frowned, not understanding, "But...if you want a piece of that, shouldn't you, I don't know, Make nice or something?"

Scarecrow looked at me then as if i were an idiot, "You're right, you don't know. So stop asking questions."

"Yes, sir." I looked down, trying to look apologetic. When his arm went around my waist and tugged me closer, I stiffened. He was in such a strange mood.

"That's better." he grinned, snidely, "Submissive looks good on you."

Biting back my reply, I let him lean back against the seat beside me, pulling his arm away as our boys climbed in. Scarecrow was a prick. Unfortunately, he was Crane, so I would take it in stride.

"You think the compound aired out yet boss?" the thug beside us asked. Scarecrow smiled, slow and cold, before shrugging.

"Looks like you just volunteered to find out."

After that, no one else said much of anything.

* * *

**First bit of strait Scarecrow. How did you like him so far? I'm eager to get to his bits of psychological torture, but I'd love to know what you think of him without seeing that yet. ****I made him a mite playful in this chapter, and _teensy_ bit over the top (at least for Crane)**

**Also, I think Jonathan came off a bit narcissistic during the session in the beginning. Which I'm not real sure about. Personally, I don't see Crane as being narcissistic, but that's just me. The Joker is a narcissist, as is the Riddler, but Jonny doesn't strike me as the type. IDK, I'm babbling.**

**Till next time.**

**Leave me some feedback.**


	4. Click, Click, Boom

Elle was playing her music loud again.

It really was his fault. He'd given her his personal laptop in an effort to give her a distraction. He'd created a personal user profile for her, which had made her beam, though it had been for the express purpose of keeping her out of his files. She would surf the web, read stories, download books and music and generally stay out of his way. Unless she was doing _this_.

He also wondered what kinds of fun little viruses she was downloading into his computer with all her pirated material.

Stripping off his latex gloves he left his chemicals on the desk and stormed into the make-shift kitchen with a scowl. Elle was laying across the steel table on her stomach, feet kicking idly above her. A few of his hired thugs (well not so much _hired_ as fearfully loyal) lounged around listening along with her. The song was some sort of heavy rap thing that made his head hurt.

_Come with your attitude, cocksucka fuck yo life.  
I'll tie you to a chair and make you watch me fuck your wife!_

The thugs cheered and laughed together until Crane reached over and hit the space bar to pause the song before he was forced to listen to anymore. The thugs, suddenly realizing he was in the room, didn't complain, but got suddenly quiet. Elle looked up, a bit startled, but was quick to smile again.

"Howdy, Doctor." she beamed. "The boys and I were just listening to some music."

"Yes," he let his gaze slide around the room, mildly amused that each thug seemed to draw away or avert his eyes, "I could _hear_ it."

Elle didn't seem to catch on, and suddenly pushed herself up into a sitting position with an excited cry. Crane drew back a little, brows raising as she clapped once. "Oh! I forgot. I found your theme music."

"My _what_?" he sounded tired, even to himself, and ran his fingers through his hair. The girl grinned brightly and nodded.

"Your theme music,_ you_ know..."

"No, Elle, I don't." He massaged his temple and sank into the chair beside the door. It was doubtful he would be able to get back to his work tonight. "Listen, I don't have the time or patience for this so-"

"Wait, wait, wait!" Elle held up the quiet-finger, fiddled with the laptop, then hit the space bar watching for his reaction.

_A tisket, a tasket,_

_The Scarecrow's out his casket,_

_Turn out the lights and lock the doors,_

_Praying that he passes._

As the eerie lullaby played through, Crane's brow slowly began to rise. She waited expectantly as the heavy bass-beats of rock-rap swelled over the chorus, not discouraged when he didn't speak.

"It's the song I sang to Max, remember? He really seemed to freak when he heard it, and it's just so _perfect_. Even the boys think so."

Crane glanced over at the "boys" in question, but none seemed eager to admit to what she was saying. After a moment he sighed and reached over to close the laptop with a deft smack. Elle frowned, crossing her arms.

"**He **liked it, you big grump. I don't see why you can't just admit that you do too."

"_Tell_ you that, did he?" he asked, but before she could reply a gunshot went off far in the compound.

The room exploded into movement; the thugs standing and cocking their own firearms while Crane shot from his chair and into the hall. He heard Elle scrambling after him, but paid her little mind. This was no time for distractions.

Crane made it into his study, snatched up the thin belt with a small cache of his toxin in liquid form, and strapped on the wrist-mounted vaporizer that connected to it. As Elle stumbled into the room, looking doe-eyed and frightened at the sound of more gunshots, he slid on his suit jacket and hurriedly buttoned it up, careful to thread the thin tube that connected his toxin to the dispenser through his sleeve. This was so he could expel many doses without having to reload, and with a little smirk, he hit the switch that fed in the _consentrated_ toxin. After that, he grabbed his mask, resting neatly on the table, and switched on the tiny air filter, then pulled it over his head.

Elle yelped, covering her ears as the gunshots sounded closer. At times he almost forgot how fragile she really was, despite her crimes. She might be mouthy and obnoxious at times, but murder had sent her into catatonia for nearly two years and apparently _gunshots_ made her mumble frantically to herself and shake her head. She sounded like one of the crazed homeless that wandered the Narrows, conversing with inanimate objects.

Sighing irritably, Crane grabbed her upper arm and drug her into the hall just as the lights went out. Elle yelped, but he squeezed her arm for silence.

"Stop crying." he snapped, peering into the darkness and moving them slowly forward. They were being attacked, it seemed. Only a few people had the power or _stupidity_ to do such a thing, even fewer had the information to pull it off. Who in this city knew where he lived? And who of those fools was ballsy enough to cross him?

_**Guess now we **_**really **_**have to move, huh Jonny?**_

He didn't dignify that with an answer and continued, instead, to drag Elle through the darkness. A light flashed down the hall as a gun was fired there and Elle threw herself against his side, clamping a hand over her mouth by the muffled sound she made. She was trembling, especially as he dislodged himself from her grip and pressed back against the wall. Somewhere far off, people were shouting, he heard the dull smacking sound of blows being exchanged then stilled as the lights flickered back on.

That was fast.

The two men in the hall both turned when they noticed him, but he'd already raised his arm, expelling a cloud of white into their faces. Clinging to him once again, Elle burried her face into his jacket and held her breath as they moved forward. One of those men had been in his employ, but it hardly seemed to matter.

_**He ain't now. **_Scarecrow chuckled. Crane rolled his eyes and hurried down the next hall.

_If you're going to speak at all, please refrain from using that atrocious grammar. _The voice laughed, but didn't reply further.

Elle had started sniffling again, clutching at the back of his jacket like a life-preserver, and had yet to take a breath. At this rate she would pass out, which in turn would slow him down, so he reached back and took a fistful of her hair, dragging her around to search her eyes. The girl slapped both hands down over her mouth, eyes wide.

"If you don't calm down, I'll shoot you myself," he enunciated each word to be sure she got it all, "Do you understand?" Brow furrowing, she gave a frantic nod and he motioned toward the door at the end of the hall. "We need to get to the garage."

She finally let her hands slide away from her face and took a shaky breath. He gave her a moment to settle and do as she was instructed, then took her upper arm and once again they were running. Down the hall, through the door and around a corner. He'd never noticed how needlessly large this place was before.

What had he been _thinking_?

When they got to the garage, Crane nearly tripped over Elle back-peddling away from the bullets that whizzed passed him. Two men waited inside, opening fire without question. He assumed they weren't his, and if they were God help them because he wa going to tear them apart. The girl shrieked as he shoved her toward one of the vans and dove behind it himself. The gunmen followed as fast as they could. The first rounded the front of the van and was greeted by a thick cloud of toxin. As he hacked and fell to his knees, Crane snatched away his gun. Usually his distaste for such weapons would have made him toss it away, but at the moment, that didn't seem particularly rational.

Behind him Elle shrieked again, and he turned in time to see her grab the extended arm of the other gunman and slam it down against her knee. He fired off a round that hit the wall near Crane, and she repeated the motion, but this time he heard the distinct sound of bone snapping and the gun skidded off under the van. While the man behind him began to scream about flies in his brain, Crane stepped toward his partner and grabbed the front of his shirt.

"Who sent you?" he demanded in the distorted voice his mask produced. The guy clenched his jaw and simply glarred. He wanted to play the big tough thug, though Crane noted the slight tremor in his limbs. Very well then. Hand going to the switch on his belt, he narrowed his eyes. "Cover your mouth."

The gunman frowned in confusion, but Elle understood who the comment was directed at and did as instructed with both hands. Crane filled the air with the less potent toxin and waited for the man's eyes to widen as he choked on the smoke.

"_**Answer me**_." he growled in a voice so menacing it had Elle stepping back. The guy cried out, trying to pull from Crane's grip and shaking his head frantically.

"Warren!" he cried. For a moment, he was still, but then, clenching his jaw, Crane dosed the gunman again and let him crumple onto the concrete. He stood slowly the adjust his rumpled suit, digesting this news.

_**I think we made him mad. **_

_You made him angry, _I_ did nothing._

_**It's all the same to him, Jonny-boy. Now he's out to get us **_**both**_**.**_

"Boss?!" one of his men yelled, stumbling into the garage with a raised gun. Crane didn't reply, letting the man find him on his own. Elle was still covering her mouth and looking slightly paler than normal. Upon seeing the thug though, the tension in her shoulders eased slightly.

"Boss, you alright?"

"With no help of yours." he replied gazing down at the writhing thug at his feet.

The guy took in that Crane was holding a gun at his side and the two frantic shooters, then swallowed.

"They tried to throw us off, make it seem like an operation, but these guys was clumsy. Not too good with their weapons either. Jake and Todd are ganked, but the rest of the boys are checking for anymore guys just in case."

Crane didn't even pretend to know who those names belonged to. He wasn't in the habit of getting to know his men, beyond their dependabilty and skill. Most were bumbling idiots, like _this_ gift to society standing in front of him, and he had little patience for street trash. After a moment, the guy laughed.

"They wasn't even _organized_, Boss. Only had 5 or 6 men and we ganked 'em all in what, two minutes?"

Crane answered by calmly raising his gun and putting a bullet into the skulls of both gunmen on the ground, then with a slow exhale, he handed the gun to the his thug. As the guy stuttered in shock, he pulled off his mask and snapped at the frozen Elle to follow him.

"Pack it up." he said to the gaping thug, in his normal detatched tone, "_Everything_. We're moving tonight."

"Where we goin'?" the guy asked obediently, hurridly stuffing the gun into his waistband as if to keep it away from his boss. Ignoring this, Crane pinched the bridge of his nose, which seemed to put the guy even further on edge, and sighed. Had Warren really been so foolish as to believe he'd be _that_ easy to get rid of? Part of him was insulted.

"Send someone out to scout a new place in the Narrows. Something simple, _preferably_ with running water and electricity."

Nodding, the thug hot-footed it back into the compound as Crane leaned back against the van. Elle was fidgeting beside him, eyeing the two dead men on the floor and the growing puddles of greyish red around them, but he paid her little attention. His thoughts were on Edward Warren and the ways he was going to make him suffer. The idiot had obviously taken their earlier exchange as a challenge, insecure rat that he was, and decided to retaliate. However, being such a miserly little creature, he'd obviously hired out the cheapest hitmen he could find. Any criminal in Gotham could tell you, that in such matters, you always got what you _paid_ for.

_**Gunna make the piggy squeal. **_Scarecrow hissed angrily, _**Sizzle strips of bacon and eat out his insides.**_

_That's just disgusting. _Crane chided. Though he had to admit, his other half was moving in the right _direction_.

* * *

**Moving right along, beacuse I'm in no mood to play _Mosey Around the Plot _with this story. I want to get to the fun parts already...and the fun people...-hint- ;D**

**ANYWHODIZZLES, what did you think of Crane, all with the coldness? I hate it when he's protrayed as a wimp, and even in the movie he was kinda a girly-man, what with the running every time there was danger. I'm not going with that.**

**I'm gunna turn more toward cold, methodical _Year One_ Crane, tweeked enough that he really would be dangerous and scary to the citizens of Gotham.**

**Also I just like killing people and being generally violent and cruel in my stories...I'm twisted like that. ^_^**


	5. A Place to Call Their Own

**_I have almost forgot the taste of fears.  
The time has been my senses would have cool'd  
To hear a night shriek, and my fell of hair  
Would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir  
As life were in't. I have supp'd full with horrors;  
Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts,  
Cannot once start me._**

**_William Shakespeare, Macbeth _**

**Reading this made me think of my dearest Jonathan and smile, and now I give it to you for this same reason, in hopes that it (as well as this long overdue update) will convince you not to bash me down with farming tools in your mob-rage. I didn't mean to abandon you, I was just so depressed that I could find no other stories about sweet Jonny and his boon companion the Scarecrow that I lost my will to write this story.**

**But hope springs eternal! In yet another attempt to scour the interwebs in search of any GOOD, IN-FUCKING-_CHARACTER_ fics with Jonny (and the Joker because he remains my biggest guilty pleasure to date) I found some. Even better was that some of these stories were complete! Hoozah!**

**So without further adieu, I give you a whole new chapter! YAY!**

* * *

**Arkham**

My arms were starting to go numb in the cold room. I couldn't be sure of the time, not having been permitted a clock or any other device with which I could turn the gears into weapons, gizmos, or lock picks, but I was pretty sure it was well passed lights out for the patients.

It had been a hulking mammoth of a man who'd appeared in my cell that night with handcuffs and a black bag. I'd wanted to scream or call for help, but in this place such things were commonplace and no cause for alarm. Many of the patients, when not heavy with deadening medications, would cry out some of the most terrible, convincing things in order to get the staff to pay them attention. I was not so foolish that I thought my screams would be met with a rescue. I was the boy crying wolf when the village had tired of his game and left him to be devoured.

And so I had been blinded by the black bag, my hands locked behind my back, and lead into an elevator. We seemed to march through the vast hallways of Arkham for hours. Truly, one who did not know her way could become lost in this manor-turned-asylum. When next I was able to see, the light was florescent giving off a terrible buzzing sound and the room was not my cell. Though it looked as if it might have been someone's cell at one point; sometime far in the past judging by the fading, off-white walls and dingy, cracked tile floor. If I had to guess, I had been taken to the oldest part of the hospital, far from my doctors and nurses and far from their help.

In those first few minutes, while I backed myself into the far corner and watched the huge guard as he stood by the door, my mind whirled with the possible reasons for bringing me here, the most logical of which turning my stomach. After all, even one who had been locked away so long heard stories of people in power taking advantage of those bellow them, females below them especially. I could imagine that he'd seen me- at a pathetic 5'6, and barley 110 pounds- as easy prey and dreaded what I would have to do to protect myself seeing as my hands were cuffed.

That fear and sickness was replaced with confusion when, of all people, Jonathan Crane came through the door.

"Dr. Crane?" I asked squinting as if it would change what I saw in front of me. "I don't understand. What's going on?"

The good doctor smiled at me then, and I had known him long enough now to recognize this as strange. As I reeled at my situation, Crane nodded to the guard who handed him the tiny key to the handcuffs he used and moved for the door.

"We won't be longer than an hour." Crane said to him in passing as the guard took one last look at me, shook his head in what seemed to be pity, and locked me inside the room with my doctor. Now of course my previous fear was reimagined with this man, who had seemed safe if not a bit callous before now, as my abuser.

"An hour?" I asked as a way to focus my thoughts, "And what will we do in that time?"

He glanced up at me, then back to his black briefcase, which he placed gently on the single rusted table in the room. "What would you like to hear, Ms. Gollic? That I've discovered your cure and wish to save you? What lie should I tell you to stall your panic?"

"I don't understand." I repeated, my voice hitching just enough that it drew his attention again, and the doctor scoffed.

"Of course you don't. How would you?" he rummaged through his briefcase a moment before pulling out a small bottle which had been labeled in the elegant script I'd seen on his notes during our sessions. I watched as he then procured a single syringe and tore it from the sealed plastic to measure out a dose of whatever the cloudy white-ish liquid was, then placed it beside his briefcase to turn to me.

"What's that?" I asked, swallowing passed the bile that was making its way up my throat. Crane gave another uncharacteristic smile and coupled it- to my dismay- with a laugh. The sound was dark and bounced around the small old room to hit me again and again almost in mockery of my fear. And there _was_ fear, more of it than I'd have thought possible before now. If this man was my doctor, then who in this place could I trust to protect me? Who could I go to when whatever horror he imagined was over? Who would believe a murderer over her prestigious doctor?

"This?" he asked finally, holding the small bottle of liquid up to the harsh light. His expression was excited, and I don't think I'd ever seen him in such a state, practically bouncing in place. "This is something I've been working on for quite some time now. One might even call it my life's work.

"Does it make it easier to have your way with the patients you use it on?"

He seemed to be replying when a realization hit him and he titled his head at me in confusion. Whatever he'd thought I might reply, it hadn't been _that_. Crane seemed lost a moment before, setting down the bottle, he approached me.

"Am I to understand that you believe I am here to _rape_ you, Ms. Gollic?" I'd never heard such an odd phrase, especially not spoken in such a level tone. Narrowing my eyes, I shifted my wrists in the cuffs again despite the pain of it, and tried to hold my ground.

"Well, when you look at this through my perspective-"

"Which is completely devoid of fact or reason." He interrupted with a scowl.

"And yet," I said, arching a brow, "Here I am, handcuffed, isolated, and with you and your…_poisons_."

At this, Crane sighed in exasperation and stared at me, holding my eyes with his clear blue ones. "Please, Ms. Gollic, do you really believe a man of my standing would stoop to mental patients if that was my goal?"

"Yes." I answered without pause, "Those in power can't wait to abuse it. They believe they are owed." for some reason I couldn't understand at this current moment, I felt a twinge of something unpleasant with these words. Something that tightened somewhere deep within me as if curling away from the light. Whatever it was, it obviously wanted to remain buried, so I ignored it.

"You and your sedatives can just fuck off, because I sure as hell won't make this easy for you!"

Crane stared at me a long moment, his expression unreadable, before with a sigh he shook his head and turned back to the table. I watched him take hold of the syringe tapping out the bubbles of air so as not to inject them into my veins and cause some sort of heart-failure when they reached the important muscle.

"This is no sedative, Ms. Gollic, and I have no intension of raping you or any of the other disgusting patients in this institution." When I opened my mouth to reply he continued over me "That however does not, by any stretch of the imagination, mean you are safe with me in this room."

Now that terribly cruel gleam was back in his eyes, making him seem like a different person entirely. This one, with his horrible, pitiless smile and the posture of one waiting to spring on its prey, let me know instantly that I would not like this side of the good doctor.

"Why have you handcuffed me?" I asked. It was the only thing that came to mind, as my fear mounted and he began to move toward me. With nowhere to go but back against the wall, I pressed myself there until he'd moved to trap me in place with his presence. My eyes dropped to the needle then back to his expression and I repeated the question with more anger. "Why the_ fuck_ am I handcuffed, _Dr. Crane_."

"Well, as they say in Germany; _Fear makes the wolf bigger than he is_. We wouldn't want you attacking me in your panic."

"And what exactly am I to be panicking over?" I asked, then hissed in a breath when he stuck me with the needle and sent the plunger home. Almost instantly, my heart began to race and the world seemed bathed in harsher light. I shook my head to clear it, but found the the fog worked faster to consume everything when I did.

"Oh," he smiled again, reaching up to stroke my cheek with the gentility of a lover, "I'm sure you'll think of something."

I had been ready to retort when movement from behind him caught my attention and then my breath was caught in my throat and my eyes were going wide. I could see it on the floor, pulling itself away from the door though I'd never heard it come through, and yet there it was, real as Crane himself and making its way toward me. Crane stepped away from me as if on cue as the black mass drug itself across the tile and wrapped hot, sweaty hands around my ankles.

"Now, Ms. Gollic," Crane said in a voice like the jagged edges of broken glass, "Tell me what you **_fear_**."

I hadn't been able to once the screaming started.

**xXx**

I shook myself from the memories and looked away from the vaporizer just visible in Crane's sleeve. Perhaps it was the long drive, or simply the sight of his weapon, but the memories had been triggered somehow and they left me reeling.

My gaze moved up to Crane, where he sat on the bench seat beside me, bent over a map of the city and muttering to himself. It had been like this for the last hour and a half. We were all exhausted, but with our hideout compromised as it was by that weasel Edward Warren, we could not stop until we found a new one.

And so we had trekked from abandoned lot to warehouse to apartment building in search of a safe, secluded place in which to throw down our collective bones. Hopefully in the near-future. I shifted again to make myself comfortable, but had been sitting far too long for it to do any good. I needed to stretch my legs, and then maybe take a nap for the next two days.

"We're here, boss." Our driver said, though Crane was far too absorbed in his muttering to acknowledge him. Knowing the guys would never have the balls to bother him after tonight, I sighed, and poked him hard in the arm.

Those incredible, cold blue eyes snapped up from the map to lock on my face and felt the weight of them almost instantly. Lowering my own gaze in what I hoped was an acceptable submissive gesture, I motioned toward the front window at the large rickety house we'd just pulled up to.

"We're here." I told him and thankfully his gaze went elsewhere, letting me breathe even again. Crane folded the map and stuck it under his seat before motioning for someone to open the door and climbing out when it was done.

This lot was not much different than the other dozen I'd seen tonight. Located in the Narrows, far from the notice of the occasional good cop (and oddly there seemed to be more of them these days) and isolated enough that it wouldn't attract attention anyway. It had once been some sort of house, I knew, but now resembled the dilapidated properties in scary stories; with its broken and hanging shutters on windows that hardly could be seen through anyway, if they weren't already smashed. The paint was peeling from the sides of the building in large chunks and the lawn was overgrown and resembled the field in which hungry velociraptors waited to eat us all whole. Crane was hardly troubled by its outer appearance though, and instead marched forward right into the waist-high weeds to the front door, ignoring my cry to wait up when I followed.

It wasn't much of a surprise to see that the inside was much the same as out. Warped and rotting floorboards, peeling wallpaper stained by water and who knows what else. There was evidence of squatters in the form of empty cans of food and a strange nest of newspaper in the far corner of the living room, but it seemed that this place had been empty for a while since then.

Crane glanced around, nudging a used heroine needle with the toe of his shoe with a look of distaste, and sighed. It wasn't that he'd expected a spotless, perfect hideaway ripe for the taking, but I could tell he at least wished it were a bit more sanitary. While the Scarecrow might not be too concerned by hygiene and gore, Crane was a stickler for cleanliness.

I waited downstairs after that, lounging across the only piece of furniture in the living room (a love-seat just as ratty and disgusting as everything else) while Crane and a few men explored the vast expanse of the old house, disappearing upstairs for a long time. I was still waiting to get back in the car and move on to yet another lot when Crane came swiftly down the stairs with a resigned expression.

"This will have to do." He said, almost to himself, then noticing me he nodded toward the door. "Get the others to bring in our supplies and phone the rest of the vans. We move in by dawn." I nodded and jumped to my feet, then hurried to the rickety front door and rushed outside.

I'm not sure what exactly sent a chill up my spine, perhaps it was the quiet when before there had been the steady rumble of our van's motor. Now, as I listened there was no rumble, and as I drew closer, it became clear why.

The driver's door was open, and in the darkness the smudge that now colored the window seemed black, though I knew to my core it should have been red. I moved closer, stepping around the door and found our driver slumped in the seat. His head was thrown forward, but even in the darkness I could see the splintered opening where his skull was once solid. The wet hole that even now oozed chunks of brain-matter and coagulating blood down onto the floorboard, where it pooled and dripped out of the side of the car.

"That's not a _good_ sign." I said to myself just as the warm muzzle of a freshly fired gun pressed against the back of my head. My hands went up into the air without needing to be told and I closed my eyes. This was not good, and Crane would not be pleased when I brought this idiot inside with me.

"Go on." The man behind me was at least a few inches my superior and urged me to march toward the front door. I wasn't going to argue though, seeing as the rest of our crew (or the ones who were in our van) were waiting inside to-

As the door swung open with its irritating horror-movie creak, I froze. Not only was every one of our thugs crammed into the large living room, but they all seemed to be, quite like myself, held at gunpoint. I opened my mouth to speak, but my new friend, kicked at the back of my leg to urge me into the room with the rest of them.

I maneuvered myself to sit next to Crane who was currently pinching the bridge of his nose, with his eyes closed in irritation. I slid down onto my knees beside him and waited to see what he might do. There was a man not far from us who was writhing on the ground while his friends attempted to console him. It was obvious that Crane had given him a heavy dose of his toxin before he'd been made to comply and that made me feel just a bit better about this whole shitty situation. And then there was Crane himself, who seemed more _put out_ by all this than _worried_ and that was comforting.

"So…uh, this wasn't the plan right?" I asked softly before the gun-toting thug from outside grunted at me and raised his warm silencer muzzled gun as if to strike me. Crane's eyes snapped open then and he gazed steadily at the thug until he stepped back and scowled.

"Boss says no talking." The guy grumbled like a petulant child, keeping his firearm at the ready.

Crane was unimpressed it seems, because he only sat back against the wall arm propped on the knee he'd bent up and stared at the thug.

"You can tell your boss I refuse then." He said calmly, "He obviously doesn't know who I am."

"All the more reason to get to know one another, don't ya think?" This voice was surprisingly feminine and high like they wanted to imitate a child. I turned to the other side of the room where an archway that led to the kitchen and back door was now emitting more gun-toting thugs and then, to my utter astonishment, a woman.

She was blonde, this woman, dressed in an odd, symmetrical mix of red and black and in her right hand, hanging from the strap on her shoulder, she held an Uzi. My brows rose, more in interest and curiosity than anything else as she sauntered into the room, blond pigtails bobbing and came to a stop a few feet from us.

Beside me Crane went very still, then cursed softly under his breath.

"What?" I murmured, trying not to move my lips or speak louder than what he could hear alone.

Crane cursed again, putting me on edge. "I don't have time for this." He all but growled as the woman paused, stared at him, then drew in a hitched breath of surprise. Her flippant smile faded to something like shock and she lowered the gun.

_"Jonathan_?" this time her voice was not high and forced, but the voice of any normal woman her age. She glanced around at everyone, then back to him, her light blue eyes narrowing.

"You know her?" I murmured, leaning in closer to him so that my voice didn't carry. Crane gave a stiff nod.

"I was her mentor in Arkham," he said softly, "years ago."

At this I arched a brow. "And now she's waving an Uzi, dressed like an acrobat? No, wait…I believe it."

"Gymnast, actually, but she is not my concern."

"There's something _more_ important than crazy people with submachine guns?"

Crane shot me a look that said 'shut your mouth' so I went quiet again, and focused on the woman as she made her way across the living room, carelessly shoving passed the thugs with guns, like she owned the place.

"Jonathan is that really you?" she asked as Crane slowly stood from the dirty floor and dusted off his black slacks.

I watched as a smile, genuine though slight curled the corners of his mouth at the woman's expense and nodded. "Dr. Quinzel. It's been too long."

The name rang a bell. Though I'd never seen her, I'd watched the news in Arkham when I was allowed. Everyone knew of the pretty psychiatrist who bitten off more than she could chew in the way of men. She didn't seem to be dead or mutilated or any of the other thousand rumors I'd heard about what her boyfriend had done to her. And then my heart began to race in building fear. If Harley Quinn was here, that could only mean her boyfriend was close behind. I might have been bat-shit crazy (not that I likened myself with that pompous megalomaniac vigilante) but even I knew enough to be afraid.

Who _wasn't_ afraid of the Joker?


End file.
